You've Gotta Be Kitten Me Right Meow
by YoungAndOverIntelligent
Summary: With no one else left to confide in, Harry finds comfort in talking to his new cat, finding that having something to spill your secrets to without worry of judgment is very therapeutic. But those blonde hairs and silver eyes remind him of something... D/H
1. Chapter 1

_Why am I starting this when I just started a different fic? I'll never update these in time..._

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or the setting or spells or anything else found in the Harry Potter books written by Queen Rowling. I own the storyline, though. I'm not sure if there are other ones like this..._

_Warning: Language. It's rated M for later chapters._

_o-O-o_

All in all, today was not a good day for Draco Malfoy.

As if it was some forewarning about his parents' soon-to-be wrath when they realize their son had not come home for Christmas break like they had wanted him to, the first day of break simply did not go to his expectation. Somehow, Peeves had wheedled his way into Slytherin common room the night before, making sleep unthinkable with the racket he had caused. This meant Draco had inevitably awoken at the start of dawn- which, mind you, was unthinkable for _this_ Malfoy. He liked his beauty sleep, thankyouverymuch.

He spent the entire day nearly falling over from exhaustion, as the kitchens at Hogwarts seemed to have run out of Draco's preferred coffee and there was no way he was getting his caffeine from that subpar, watery substitute they serve. He hadn't even been granted an opportunity to nap, thanks to Pansy insisting on taking him to Hogsmeade to help her shop for her own Christmas presents all day. After dinner, where the food was inadequate to his tastes, Blaise had decided to use their room as his own personal bachelor pad with at least three other women. Obviously, there was no way Draco was going to sleep with _that_ going on in the room. He opted to go out flying instead.

He was _so_ looking forward to it, as well. Sometimes being in the air just lifted his spirits in the most brilliant ways. He always felt so free; as if there was nothing that could tie him to the ground with the rest of his troubles.

The only problem was that the pitch was already occupied.

Who else but Harry freaking Potter to damper the only light Draco could have had today.

_Harry Potter._

Even the name made Draco sick to his stomach. It has always been like that; he supposes even that first day in Madame Malkin's had given him the same, gut-wrenching feeling he always gets whenever the boy is around. And lately, that feeling has just been overruling his life.

As it should. Because on top of having his always present, soul-burning hatred that he always had for the Boy Who Lived Then Died Then Resurrected Himself And Defeated A Dark Lord, he now had the guilt of Potter saving him from an agonizing, burning death; as well as everything else that Draco's family had done to him during the war.

To make matters worse, it seemed as though Draco could never stop thinking about Harry Potter. This guilt was eating him alive; he needed to find a way to atone for what he'd done so that this damn guilt would subside and he could go on hating Potter like normal without feeling like a git for hating him.

Needless to say, as soon as Draco saw Potter zooming away on that top-of-the-notch broomstick of his, he walked straight back up to the castle to where he lay now, sulking in the common room and hardly listening to Pansy rambling away about something Daphne Greengrass had- or perhaps hadn't- done.

"...listening to me? Draco!" Upon hearing his name spoken in Pansy's harsh tone, Draco snapped his head toward her, finding that she had stopped her pacing back and forth to lean over in front of him.

"Sorry, what?" He mumbled lamely, helplessly aware of how much Pansy hates it when Draco daydreams during one of her rants. She rolled her big brown eyes, thoroughly irritated.

_Good going, Malfoy, now you've upset her_. "I don't understand why I bother to even rant to you about these thing if you insist on not listening all the time!"

"It's not my fault you insist on droning on about such _dull_ topics." He was a little harsh with this. He blamed his easily perishable patience, which tended to always be quite easier to perish when he was tired.

Pansy scoffed pointedly, her hands resting on her hips. "Oh, would you rather me talk about topics that are interesting to _you_? I apologize, but I don't find exactly talking about Potter twenty-four/seven all too riveting."

Draco sputtered a bit, sitting upright in a dignified manner. "I do not like talking about Potter twenty-four/seven either!" Pansy simply quirked a well manicured eyebrow.

"Which explains why you always do, right?"

Draco's own eyebrows furrowed in a disgusted manner. "I do not!" He leaned back on the couch, his arms folded over his chest in feigned disinterest.

"Oh really?" Pansy smirked at him, sitting down next to him on the green loveseat with a hand resting on his thigh. He wished she would stop doing that. "What would you call 'narrating his every movement whenever he's in the room', then? Not to mention those detailed recaps you insist on giving us every night."

Draco rolled his silver eyes expectantly. "Pansy, I do not 'narrate his every movement'."

"You complained about what he was eating for breakfast this morning."

Suddenly, the memory sparked something in the blonde, "He was dipping his toast into his porridge while it had orange marmalade on it! Sorry if that disgusted me!" To his horror, Pansy was sniggering. Trying to recuperate, he continued. "I mean, honestly! Orange marmalade with cinnamon porridge- who does that?"

"I know, Draco, you've told me this at least three times already." Draco scowled, unaware of the fact that he brought up something so trivial more than once. Pansy sighed, falling back on the couch to rest partially on Draco's shoulder. She gripped his thigh in what was supposed to be a soothing way. "Sometime I just wish you'd stop being so stubborn and admit it already."

Draco sat up straight, knocking Pansy over slightly. "Admit what?" He sounded scandalized, though he was not sure why just yet.

Pansy smirked widely. "I dunno. You tell me." Draco's blonde eyebrows knitted again.

"You're mad," Draco had told her, still uncertain of just what she wanted him to admit.

"Oh, come on!" Pansy scoffed, "Draco, we all know. And frankly, no one even cares. Just come out and say it, why don't you?"

"Pansy!" Draco was getting extremely frustrated with this conversation. He wasn't fond of other people telling him who he was or how he should act. Not anymore, at least. "Either you tell me now what predominant secret I seem to need to confess or we're changing the subject. "

Pansy seemed to be enjoying this conversation, though. "Okay, I'll give you a hint; it's about Potter."

"What? That I thoroughly despise him and that I would be glad to sell him out to a covenant of vampires? Because that's not a secret, Pans, I'm pretty sure all of Britain is well aware of this fac-"

"Oh, Draco," Pansy sounded thoroughly concerned for him as she ignored his tyrannical monologue. "I'm your _best friend_. You can tell me _anything_. Because I'm _okay_ with it."

Draco stared agape at her for a moment in his confusion. "What the bloody devil are you talking about?"

Pansy squealed girlishly, in a way that told Draco there was nothing good about to come out of her mouth. She squealed like that whenever she had some big, juicy gossip to share. "You're in _love_ with him!"

"Wh-" Draco was sputtering again, this time with a new level of disgust. "What-? Are you- Are you fucking _insane_, Pans-"

"Oh, stop trying to cover it up with shock, Draco. Everyone knows."

To Draco's discontentment, Theodore Nott had leaned into in conversation. "Frankly, I've known since fifth year."

"You're both _menta_-"

"Known what?" Blaise called from across the common room, apparently well satisfied from earlier events. Draco realized practically the entire common room, which thankfully only held a handful of students at the time, was listening in on the conversation now.

"That Draco's in love with Potter." Pansy informed everyone loudly. Draco wanted to thrash her.

Everyone in the room started nodding in agreement, throwing in their own bits to the topic. Even the two of first years.

"I figured," commented a fifth year whom Draco hardly knew. "He practically never stops talking about him."

"He mutters his name in his sleep sometimes-" Goyle noted.

"I saw him gawking at his arse, once-" added a first year.

Draco was looking back and forth between everyone, his jaw hanging open and sputtering like never before. This was insane. It was mental. Draco Malfoy was in no way even the slightest bit _fond_ of that specky git. _And he's never wanted to look at his ugly face before, let alone his arse!_

Finally fed up, Draco raged. "You guys are delusional! There's no way I hold anything more in my emotional grasps for Potter than the utmost hatred, and you'd be wise to ever think otherwise." He stormed out of the common room, even though it was now past curfew.

He tried to ignore Pansy who had followed him.

"Draco, come on!" She called after him almost uselessly. Draco quickened his pace down the dank corridor. "Wait, Draco! Oh, stop being so melodramatic for once-"

"'Melodramatic'?" Draco spun around on the spot. "'Melodramatic'? Pansy, do you understand what you just accused me of _doing_-?"

"-Oh, stop hiding it, will you?" Pansy said, almost exasperatedly.

Draco rounded on her, "The only thing I'm hiding right now is how much I want to _thrash_ you, Pans." She rolled her eyes. "Now the entire _common_ _room_ thinks that I- that I fancy _Harry Potter_-"

"You honestly had no idea, did you?" The pure wonder in her voice kept Draco from continuing. He pulled a face of utter confusion, staring into her big, brown, judging eyes. "That you're in love with Harry Potter?"

Draco clenched his jaw angrily, muttering up the biggest bitch-face he could. "Are you fucking serious, right now, Pans?"

"Of course I'm serious- oh Draco!" She clapped a hand over her heart, looking way too disgustingly cliché as she babied him.

"Pans, I'm _not_ in _love_ with him!" Draco could feel the headache forming behind his eyes as he tried to reason with her insanity. Low and throbbing.

She ignored him completely, "I mean, I honestly do not know why you would choose a _Gryffindor_ but if he's what your heart has chose-"

Draco snapped, nearly ringing her neck in the process. "You know what Pans? Fuck you. As if my reputation couldn't get any worse, I've got rumors of bloody Harry Potter sodding it up." He began to walk away, but Pansy grabbed the sleeve to his robes.

"Well sorry for trying to help you come to terms with your _feelings_-!"

"What feelings?" Draco turned back around to her fast enough to generate whiplash. "The only feelings I have, and ever _will_, feel toward Harry Potter is utter, undeniable loathing!" He knocked a torch off of the wall in his rage as he turned to leave for the final time.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy you turn back around this instant!" Pansy shrieked after him. "If you don't turn around right now I have your permission to hex you into your wildest nightmares!" Draco scoffed to himself, refusing to even slow his steps. Pansy always threatened to hex him. She threatened to hex everyone, and ninety percent of the time she followed through. But never to Draco. She loved him too much to ever truly hex him, and Draco used this to his advantage on more than one occasion. She wouldn't hex him.

She did.

One moment, Draco was right about to turn the corner to ascend the stairs out of the dungeons, the next he was shrinking.

And growing hair. Tufts of his bright blonde hair was sprouting from his skin over his hands, arms legs, and evidentially his face. Parts of his body was contorting into unusual proportions, and he was shrinking so small he was now inside of his clothing, which drooped around him lifelessly. Once the spell stopped its magic, he took one terrified moment to process his body.

He was now a cat.

Furious, he began to flail about in desperate attempt to get to Pansy and claw up her face. He was still held captive in his now-too-large clothing, his new claws catching on the fabric and tangling his feet.

_Paws_?

He tried to call out Pansy's name angrily, but all that came out was a very aggravated hiss. He could feel the hair- _fur_ on his back sticking straight up, and his ears flat against his small head. His struggle for freedom was going quite unceremoniously.

Then he felt large hands reach into the robes and grab his scruff. He could smell the moisturizing potion Pansy used on her hands way too strongly with his oversensitive nose.

She yanked him out, his claws still well attached to the fabric of his robes. He began spitting and hissing ferociously, desperately trying to swat at her hand with his claws. She brought him up to her face, which was contorted in a very scheming, very evil expression.

"You know, you were _supposed_ to be a ferret, but I kind of like this a little better." Draco moaned dangerously, his eyes consumed with rage. Pansy continued, still smirking, "You make a very pretty cat, you know. And stop moaning like that; it's not polite behavior."

Draco hissed, his tail swinging about twitchily.

Pansy had her lips pursed, her mind buzzing around with ideas of just what to do with her best friend in this state. "You quite do deserve this. But to be honest, I think you need a little _more_."

_Well that is downright frightening_, Draco thought, though he made sure to hiss once more at her in protest.

"It'll only be for a little while," She was now talking to herself as she ripped the still dangling robes hanging from Draco's back paws. She threw it on the ground, pointing at it with her wand to cast another transfiguring spell. It morphed into a picnic basket, complete with a latch.

Draco saw where this was going all too well. He swatted at the arm that was holding him, feeling his claws dig into her arm. She yelped, dropping him in the shock of pain. He landed on his feet alright, and quickly learned to master his four legs as he ran for the stairs.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Pansy's spell got him right as he leaped for the stairs. His stiff, small body fell to the floor roughly.

She took her time to go collect him. Once she did, she began shoving him into the light colored basket, all the while muttering to him. "You arse. You know I suck at fixing cuts." He tried to look over at her with his eyes, but found they only moved a sliver. That was a little odd, considering petrified victims usually had free range of their eye movement. "There!" Pansy exclaimed as she finally managed to get him in the small basket.

Draco couldn't even growl at her anymore.

He couldn't flinch as she pointed her wand at him again, waving it in a funny manner. A light golden aura drifted toward him, eventually wrapping itself around him and absorbing into his fur. She winked. "I picked that little useful spell up from my mother." She fingered at the fur between his eyes. "Now there's only one human being that can reverse this spell."

Draco barely had time to register this before she shut the lid on him and eloped him in darkness. One person? Who? Pansy?

A sudden drop of his body told him she had removed the curse holding him still. He immediately tried to stand up, but the basket was too small for him to stretch his legs fully. He remained crouched awkwardly, trying to push up on the lid he knew was locked.

The basket was lurching back and forth, and he could tell Pansy was moving rather quickly up to the main part of the castle.

He tried not to think of the horrors Pansy could have cooked up for him. Angrily, and to make himself known, he let out a loud howl. He quickly learned not to do that, as she had purposefully rocked the basket up and down violently. He lost his footing and landed hard on the wooden flooring. Begrudgingly, he backed up into the corner, flicking his long haired, elegant looking tail.

He had no idea what else to do, so he settled on waiting for the moment Pansy reopened the lid. He was ready to pounce at any second.

He heard her slightly muffled voice rang through the small holes in the woven wood.

"_Longbottom_!"

Oh god no.

"_Hey, Longbottom_!" Pansy cried again. Draco assumed the oaf hadn't believed she was talking to him. Either that or he was expecting something really bad. _Which wasn't far off at all actually_...

"_Y-yeah_?" Longbottom had squeaked. Draco rolled his new cat eyes, finding that cats actually can't move their eyes much at all.

"_Some git left your Hero-boy a present by the castle doors_." Where was she going with this? "_Obviously they didn't have enough sense to try and make sure it got to their beloved crush_."

"_Erm_." Draco felt his basket thrust forward, as an exchanging of carriers took place. "_Yeah, okay, I'll make sure Harry gets it_."

Harry.

_Harry._

_Bloody fuck._

Draco knew who Pansy meant to untransfigure him now.

_o-O-o_

_This idea has been in my mind for a while, and suddenly I had the greatest urge to write it. Which probably wasn't a good idea because I just started a different one as well. Help me._


	2. Chapter 2

_Hai guize. :3_

_I don't own Harry Potter, but the way. I doubt any of you thought I did but still. SOPA and shit._

__o-O-o__

Draco began hissing and spitting like crazy, one last desperate attempt at freedom. Maybe if he caused enough of a racket Longbottom would drop the basket and he can get out.

No such luck.

Longbottom had indeed almost dropped it, but he caught it just in time. "Is there a cat in here?" He asked, dumbfounded.

Draco could practically see Pansy's shrug nonchalantly, hearing her footsteps as the carried farther and farther away as she blatantly ignored Draco's fit. Draco howled loudly for her to return.

She couldn't do this to him. She definitely couldn't. Weren't they supposed to be best friends? Weren't they always supposed to look after each other and _not_ pull mean jokes on each other? Other people; yes. Each other? _Never_.

Eventually Draco stopped his fit. He was still panting heavily though, rage and shock still overcoming him. Pansy and her new found obsession with Draco's affairs! How dare she? How dare she even think that he would be even smitten with the brainless git he obviously hated? It wasn't even in her right to say something like that out loud!

And this was beyond anything in her right. This was utter betrayal, and Draco hardly found he would ever be able to forgive her for this.

As soon as he could, Draco would run for it. The moment hat lid opened he would flee, seek out Pansy, and let her know that he demanded she find a way to change him back immediately, then continue his existence finding any means to destroy her. He was not, under no condition, going to play pet to the bloody Chosen One.

The sound of some heavy door squeaking open and noisy chatter told Draco he was now in the Lion's Den.

_Please, please leave the door open. No one close it-_

He heard the loud bang signifying the shut of the portrait he knew held the Gryffindor common room. He prepared his pounce out of the basket determinedly, ready to look for another exit.

"_Hey, Harry_!" Longbottom chirped almost giddily. Draco felt like he was going to puke.

And there he was; Potter's stupid voice let Draco know he was indeed there. A million gallons of hatred coursed through Draco's new veins. Maybe he would get a chance to scratch another scar on that face of his. "_Hullo, Neville. What's in the basket_?"

"_It's actually a gift for you_!" Draco was really going to puke right now. He assumed Harry had given him a very confused look. "_No- not from me- Apparently someone left it in the Entrance Hall, but it says 'To: Harry Potter' on the tag."_

"_Who is it from_?" Draco could distinguish the sound of Potter's Mudblood friend, Hermione Granger.

"_It says 'an admirer'_." Harry's other trusty sidekick and blood traitor Ron Weasley, had teased. "_Check that, mate, an _admirer!" Draco's basket was lifted what he assumed was out of Longbottom's hold and into Weasley's.

"_Ron, stop it_." Granger scolded. Draco's basket dropped onto something a little uneven.

The Irish voice of Seamus Finnigan came next, "_Well you can't defeat a Dark Lord without gaining a couple of people in your favor, can you_?"

"_Ooohh! Open it, Harry_!" Said a female voice Draco thought was Lavender Brown. Though it could have been Parvati Patil. He never much bothered to find distinctions between their voices, he noticed. "_I want to see_!"

"_Erm_..." Draco heard Potter's voice come from above him, and concluded his basket was in the Gryffindor's lap_. In his fucking lap_ for god's sake. He readied his escape.

He heard the latch release above him and sprang into action. He slipped through the small flap easily, leaping stealthily into the bright, warm common room. He did not take the time to familiarize his surroundings, other than that of a clear exit.

His presence created utter pandemonium. He weaved his way through the crowd of legs as fast as he could. Around him, people were screaming at each other to _'Get it_!'. Draco would not allow this. Several times he felt a hand around his middle, but his sleek body allowed him to slip right through the grasp. He caught sight of what must be the exit back into the castle halls, and bolted for it.

His plan proved faulty. He reached the door quite well, but he had no means of opening it in the slightest. He pounced, desperate for a door handle he could hopefully twist with his weight but could not find one. All he had managed to do was trap himself in the cove. He felt the presence of the large group of Gryffindors creeping up on him and spun around.

Potter was the first one there. The idiot had gotten down on his knees so that he was level with Draco, one hand stretched out meant for Draco to sniff. Draco looked from the crooked finger back to the bright green eyes, partially hidden under unruly black fringe and long eyelashes in disbelief. The rest of the group seemed to become deathly quiet, not wanting to scare Draco off. Draco was looking for a path between legs when Potter had clicked his tongue in a call, making Draco's ears flinch and, evidentially, his gaze in the direction. "Come on..." He was muttering sweetly.

It pissed Draco off.

He was _not_ a cat. He was not a goddamn _animal_. He was a bloody _Malfoy_ and he would _not_ stand for this.

Crossly, Draco swatted at the finger, leaving a deep gash. Potter had cursed, pulling back instantly. The sudden action that shocked everyone gave Draco the distraction he needed to flee under Parvati Patil's legs. Draco searched desperately for someplace to hide as he heard the group behind him beginning to chase after him again.

He took refuge under cabinet. It was a very tight squeeze for him, so he knew he would be safe. Even so, there was instantly a crowd of feet surrounding his cabinet. He backed into the wall, hissing loudly for them to hear.

"Stop it! Leave him!" Potter's voice called. A murmur of discontent hushed along the group. Draco twisted his ears to hear better. "He can't stay under there forever." _Like hell if he's not going to try_. "I'll get him out later. Just... leave him be for now."

"How do you know it's male?" Brown asked him bitterly, as though offended Potter was using male pronouns.

"It didn't _look_ female-"

"-You can't tell by just _looking_ at it!"

"Alright, _'it'_ then." Draco had to applaud Potter for his effect he had on these people, because as he spoke everyone quieted. But Draco refused to be known as _'it'_. He hissed very loudly, the end rumbling into a moan. The group seemed to snigger.

"See? It is male!" Weasley was smug. "It didn't like being called 'it' or 'female'-!"

"It can't understand us, Ronald-" Granger hushed him. Draco moaned again, trying to let them know he in fact _can_ understand them. He was ignored, though.

Dean Thomas then asked in a very perplexed voice, cutting Granger off. "Why would someone send you a cat, mate?"

"-A right irritable one at that-"

"-Maybe it was supposed to claw your face up!" Draco then heartily resigned to do just what that first year had guessed. It could be his silver lining to this whole situation.

Draco could practically feel Granger's eyebrows knitting in thought, "I don't think so, Jeremy. If they wanted to do Harry harm, there are definitely better ways to do it."

_Oh, not this kind of harm, Granger._

"Neville?" Granger addressed Longbottom. "Where did you find this, again?"

Longbottom had taken an awkward minute to answer, "Well, I didn't- Pansy Parkinson had given it to me-"

At the mention of Pansy there was an uproar.

"-From a _Slytherin_?"

"-It was definitely meant to kill you, Harry."

"Maybe it's cursed-!"

"Or its supposed to spy on us-"

"Guys!" Once again, as Potter began talking everyone quieted. Draco now found this little effect Potter had extremely annoying. "Neville said that it was originally in the Entrance Hall, so I doubt it was actually _from_ Parkinson." Potter had sighed. If Draco could snort, he would have done so very bitterly. "Let's just leave it be for now alright? I'll question Parkinson tomorrow when I can."

_'I'll question Parkinson'_ he says. Like the bloody fucking auror he always pretended he was. Draco settled himself down, curling his limbs under his body and resting. He could see the feet of many Gryffindor's, but watched Potter's as he took a seat on the plush sofa directly across the room from Draco's cabinet.

Draco hated him. He hated Harry Potter more than anything in his entire life. He hated bloody Pansy for putting him in this goddamn situation. He hated every Gryffindor ever to set foot in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He hated felines. He hated transfiguration. He hated restricted curses that made it so only one person could free him. He. Hated. _Potter_.

But what was he going to do? Sit here and play pet and hope that Potter just so happens to try and cast a transfiguration spell on him? No matter how much he wanted to, he knew he couldn't run. What good would that do? He'd only just be stuck in this goddamn body. No, he needed to make Potter see that he was _not_ a cat. He needed to show him that he was in fact his childhood nemesis. He needed Potter to realize that he was actually Draco Malfoy stuck inside the body of a cat.

It was so hopeless.

_o-O-o_

Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration. _Why would someone send him a cat_?

It was nearly midnight, and almost all of the other Gryffindors had gone up to bed. All that remained were him, Hermione, Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus. The others were joking merrily about something to do with Potions class, but Harry sat hardly paying attention while he brooded over this question.

To be honest, he couldn't see how someone would send him a cat to harm him. What's the worst it would be able to do, anyway? There were a million things they could have sent if they wanted that. No, Harry hardly doubted it actually was from an admirer- some foolish girl who thought it would cheer him up or something. Though, she seemed to have forgotten that it would become very irritable being cooped up in that tiny picnic basket for the journey.

But still, why a cat?

Harry swallowed very thickly. He would never admit it, but he was almost kind of _glad_. Ever since the end of the war, things just weren't the same between him and other people. They all seemed to idolize him, but none seemed actually content with treating him the way he wanted to be treated- like normal. The only people who would were Ron and Hermione; and lately they've been so cooped up in their new relationship he felt like a bit of a third wheel.

Not to mention, Harry no longer had Ginny. It got pretty messy toward the end of their relationship last summer. She refused to treat Harry like a normal person. She either babied him or idolized him, just like everyone else. Harry should have known it would end up like that; she had been his fan from the beginning.

Maybe his admirer realized this? Maybe they knew he just needed a friend who wouldn't know to treat him differently. Maybe they understood too a little bit, what it was like to be this famous. Either that or they had great empathy skills.

Because hell knew that he missed his old owl, Hedwig. He missed her dearly and always wanted to get another pet, but felt way too guilty about doing it. He knew it was silly, but he felt like getting another pet would be like _cheating_ on his old bird. But if someone gave him a pet as a gift... well that wasn't as bad, really.

Harry just wished they had had better knowledge than to pick such a nasty cat. Hopefully, though, that was only from being forced into the basket for so long. Though something about the feline reeked of a bitterness that was almost familiar...

"...Harry? Harry!" Hermione had called for him. He jerked his head toward her, realizing everyone was watching him now with small smiles at catching him dazing off.

"We're going up to bed, mate," Ron informed him, getting up off of the couch to help his girlfriend up.

Harry nodded, getting up as well.

As the group shuffled to the spiral stairwell, Harry stood back. "Er, I've got to..." he trailed off, pointing at the large cabinet.

Seamus chuckled, rolling his eyes, "Good luck with that thing, mate." He and Dean left.

Neville shuffled awkwardly, and Harry could tell he was feeling a little guilty for having brought the cat to him. As he was about to speak this, Harry cut him off. "It's alright, Neville, it wasn't your fault I got the thing."

Neville closed his mouth, reddening a little, though nodding and turning up the steps.

Ron sniggered, "I think I would sell it."

"Ron!" Hermione looked appalled.

"What?" Ron defended himself, "It's not like it wants to be here anyway!"

Hermione looked like she was becoming cross with Ron. "I think it was a sweet gesture from whomever sent it, and selling it would be _very_ rude. It was meant for Harry." Harry could feel his face heating up. He could tell Hermione knew about his loneliness as of late, and he was a little uncomfortable with the fact that she could have taken that the wrong way and though he didn't enjoy her company.

"'Sweet gesture'? That thing?" Ron scrunched up his nose in disgust. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Just go up to bed, will you?" She nagged.

Ron shrugged, voicing Harry "Good luck!" as he heeded his girlfriend's words. She turned to him.

"Would you like any help?" Harry smiled at her, a little bit embarrassed. He got the feeling she knew he was going to decline from the start.

"No thanks," he admitted. He felt like this was something he needed to come to terms with by himself. Or rather, with the cat. She smiled back knowingly, before wishing him goodnight and headed up to the girl's dormitory.

Now, all he had to do was get the cat out from under the cabinet. He's faced harder troubles.

He lowered himself to the ground, peering underneath the bottom of the cabinet with his face pressed into the plush carpet of the common room floor. Suddenly, silver eyes illuminated at him, watching him with critical eyes.

Harry sighed.

"You're going to be difficult, aren't you?" He asked out loud, as though he was expecting an answer. The cat merely blinked lazily.

Carefully, Harry reached his hand out under the furniture, remembering what had happened last time. He never knew cat scratches could be so painful. Luckily Hermione was quite the healer, or that gash could have taken weeks to heal.

The cat watched his futile attempt with amused eyes. Great. Now cats were using him as a form of entertainment.

He rested his hand on the ground as close as he dared. The cat growled at him threateningly, it's large, silver eyes never leaving his face. Harry sighed again.

"Look, there are a million ways that I can do this," Harry said. "Most of which involve me getting out my wand and petrifying you. Now I don't really think that's the best of plans, because I've never exactly had to petrify something your size before, and I could very well overdo it. So either you come out now unharmed, or risk being killed by my powerful hand. Your move." And now he was _bargaining_ with cats. If the Daily Prophet could see him now...

To his surprise, the cat started to move with a little difficulty in the tight space. Harry wondered vaguely if it could understand him, as it inched its way closer to Harry's finger. His feelings soared in triumph as it began to sniff it.

Then it clamped its teeth down. Hard.

Harry winced in pain, biting his tongue to keep from screaming out. He took a couple of shaky breaths to regain himself. "That hurts," he said, as tears started forming in his eyes. The cat only bit harder. "Ow- okay, okay! Are you coming or not then?"

The cat moaned around his finger, but began moving out from under the cabinet- still refusing to un-sink its teeth out of Harry's flesh. It hadn't let go, even when it was finally out from under the tight space. Harry pulled on his finger, trying to get it loose. The cat growled again, and bit down fully.

Harry did yelp this time.

_'For fucks sake, you're the human_!' Harry reminded himself. He pulled the cat into a lock hold, using his other hand to wedge the cat's jaws open. Once Harry had his finger back, the cat squirmed out of his hold, shaking its little body to perhaps reorganize its fur.

Harry shook his finger, trying to get the pain to subside. "Prat," he spat.

The cat hissed in return.

They sat there for a moment, Harry rubbing his injured finger and the cat twitching its longhaired tail, aggravated, before Harry stood up.

"I doubt you'd be willing to let me carry you, then."

A low growl told him 'no'.

Harry nodded at it, then started his trek up the steps. He turned back and saw that it had indeed followed him, however begrudgingly.

Harry couldn't help watching it as it leapt up the steps, almost awkwardly. It hopped along, much different that how he had seen Hermione's cat Crookshanks do it. Harry stopped to watch it more, but as Harry stopped so did it, looking up at him with those silver eyes which reminded him of something...

Not to mention that fur. Harry had hardly seen any cat this color before. It was pale yellow- almost white, and looked extremely silky. It had relatively short fur, though the hairs on its tail draped longer very elegantly. The cat was looking up at him expectantly, as though calling him an idiot and asking why he had randomly stopped on the steps.

Harry swallowed and turned back up the steps, feeling very peculiar.

_o-O-o_

_I just love the fact that I can write about a man turning into a cat and making a love story out of it. Is that weird?_


	3. Chapter 3

_Within the duration of the last chapter and this one, I did not come to own any part of the Harry Potter franchise._

_o-O-o_

Draco was learning a lot of things about cats right now.

For instance, he did not know that they purred _all the time_. And although he could not move his eyes much, he had a farther radius of view with his sharp peripherals. He had a little bit of trouble getting used to certain things, like how loud everything was and, mainly, the strong sense of smell which was giving him a bit of a headache. Especially _Potter's_ smell, which was doing a lot of funny things to his nose.

Not to mention, patches on his fur were practically _begging_ for him to lick clean. Which he was downright ignoring because he was under no contract to do such a disgusting thing.

Potter had stopped outside of a room labeled '8th Years', looking down at Draco for the millionth time. Draco could hear the rustling inside of the room from the other boys getting ready for sleep.

"Err, this is my room- well, yours too now, I guess..." Potter mumbled to him. Honestly. Who the hell talks to their cat like that? Not to mention it was painfully obvious. Who tells their cat painfully obvious things like that? And awkwardly, to boot. Who awkwardly tells their cat painfully obvious thing like that? The door opened in front of him, and Draco slipped inside to leave the git out by himself in the hall.

Thomas commented to his right, "Well, look who finally came out from hiding." _Oh bite me_. Draco noticed the boys were changing, and quickly turned away. That was _not_ a sight he wanted to see.

Draco sniffed around, smelling Potter's scent heavily affiliated with the bed second to the left in the circular room. He proudly hopped up onto it.

"Smart thing, though," Finnigan commented. Of course he was smart. He was a Malfoy. "Did you discover its gender yet, or are we still acting like it doesn't have one?"

Harry shrugged, coming into the room. "I dunno. I think it's male."

"Why don't you check?" Draco nearly hissed at Finnigan's response.

To his relief, though, Potter defended him, "I'm not checking for _that_!"

"Harry, we all know you're pure as fuck, but really," Thomas leaned in toward him, throwing a shirt over his head, "it's a bloody _cat_." Draco moaned angrily.

He could feel Weasley watching him, with a very scrutinizing expression. "I think it understands us."

"It's a cat, Ron."

"No- no!" Weasley insisted, "It gets offended real easily!"

"My aunt has a cat," Neville piped up as he climbed into his bed, "and it understands certain things. Like it understands feelings and stuff- my Gran told me."

Thomas shrugged, "Maybe it just knows when we make fun of it, then."

Potter seemed very disinterested in the conversation as he rummaged through drawers for things to sleep in. _Of course he wouldn't be paying attention to the conversation that could make him realize Draco was not a cat._

"So what are you naming it then?" asked Finnigan, he too climbing into his bed next to Thomas's._ Oh god. Just what he needed- a pet name for everyone to coo at him._

Harry shrugged again. "I dunno. I need its gender first, don't I?"

"So then check!" Finnigan and Thomas both chimed at him. Harry scrunched up his nose and removed his top. Draco quickly averted his gaze.

"That's just... _awkward_," he commented lamely, tossing the shirt to the side in a crumpled heap_. He doesn't even fold his clothing._ "I mean, I don't think it would appreciate me looking at him like that." _Damn right he wouldn't._

Thomas huffed in annoyance, getting up from his bed. Draco dug his claws in the fabric of Potters bed as he came closer, painfully determined to not let the Gryffindor near him. As Thomas stretched a hand out to him, he swiped his paw. To be honest, he was a little disappointed the Gryffindor had pulled away in time to not get scratched. Draco hissed at him threateningly.

"Hey, stop it!" -_Oh shut up Potter, I can defend myself-_ "Leave him alone!" The git had ran over to Draco's defense, thankfully completely clothed.

"That cat is a bloody demon!" Thomas squealed, cradling his hand to his chest for safekeeping. Draco felt smug.

"I told you he wouldn't appreciate it!"

"So it's a _'he'_ now?" Thomas had spat bitterly, walking back over to his own bed. Potter looked at loss for words.

"Well, I dunno about you," Came Weasley's voice from on his bed thoughtfully, "but she's pretty enough to be a girl."

Draco hissed harshly at this several times, finishing with a low moan.

"Told you he understands us."

This seemed to shut everyone else up. Draco sat up proudly. He wasn't sure how he felt about Weasley being the one to discover this. To be honest, he did not want anyone else but Potter finding out about him actually being Draco Malfoy. _Actually_, he might even obliviate him once he gets back into his own body. But just to make sure, Draco hissed again at Weasley. He made a mental note to always hiss whenever the ginger spoke.

"He might just not like you," said Finnigan. Draco took notice of the pronoun.

"I don't reckon he likes anyone." _Wise words, Longbottom._

"He was stuck in a basket for what could have been days," Harry mentioned. "I wouldn't like humans either if that happened to me." _No, I'm pretty sure I just dislike all of you_.

Weasley started a new topic, rolling over in his bed to face Potter, "So where is it sleeping?"

_Right here on this bed_. "Erm..." he could see Potter looking around for a decent answer to this.

"You're not letting it sleep on the bed with you?" Weasley sat up a little, "Blimey, mate, he'll claw you up in your sleep!"

"Well no, obviously!" _Like fuck Draco would sleep on the floor_. "But I don't, er..."

To try and make his point known, Draco paced over above where Potter's pillow was. He laid down, curling into a ball in a way he has seen several other cats do before in the Slytherin common room. Draco opened his eyes, seeing Potter's concerned expression. Suddenly, this expression changed into one that clearly explained the idiot had an idea.

He rummaged through his drawer, pulling out an old sock. He pointed his wand at it, letting it morph itself into a reasonable sized cat bed. _Well, at least he's okay a transfiguration_...

Potter placed the bed in front of Draco with hopeful eyes. It still smelled like foot.

Draco looked down at the bed, than back up to Potter, throwing what he hoped to look like a decent bitch glare with this new cat face. Because what the hell was he thinking? There was no way he was going to actually _sleep_ in that thing.

Potter was getting a little frustrated. "Get in the goddamn bed, will you?" Draco growled at him. "Fucking..." Potter reached out two hands to try and lift Draco up.

Draco shot upward immediately, swatting at his hands and hissing madly. He felt his back arch, and his tail fluff out. Potter narrowed his eyes to slits. "You are _not_ sleeping on my bed."

Draco hissed.

"No."

_Hiss._

_"No."_

_Hiss._

"_No_!"

"_Blimey_- I have never seen anyone get into an argument with their _cat_ before!" Thomas noted amusedly.

Bravely, Potter lurched for Draco. Draco tried to back up, but only met the headboard of the bed before he was tackled unceremoniously under Potter's body. Draco squirmed as best as he could, spitting madly and clawing at anything he could, but Potter had a firm grip around his chest and stomach. The Gryffindor lifted him, presenting a clear shot for Draco to flee. As Draco almost freed himself though, Potter bought him into his chest, cocooning him between his torso and his thighs with his arms tightly closed preventing lateral escape. Draco was throwing a fit.

"Goddammit- calm down, will you?" Potter nagged. Draco hissed again. He did not like this enclosed space. Potter's smell was making him _nauseous_. Not to mention he was getting his fur so _dirty_ and _rumpled_.

Begrudgingly Draco froze, hoping that Potter would let him go if he saw he was willing to not scratch him when he did. No such luck though, because Potter wasn't loosening his hold in the slightest. Instead, he wrapped his left arm around him firmer so that he could use his right to place the sock-bed on the floor. Draco felt Potter place a hand on his belly so that he could lift him.

Before he did so, though, Potter ran the index finger by Draco's chin experimentally through the soft fur there.

Draco vowed would _never_ admit that it actually felt quite pleasant. Because it was the underlying idea that he was _human_, and therefore was _not_ supposed to be petted like a lowly animal.

After that moment faded, Potter hastily lifted Draco's limp form and tossed it to the floor on the cat bed. Draco's back remained arched through the fall, which seemed much higher than it should have. He supposed it was because of his tremendous height change. He remained still as he landed, completely shocked by being thrown aside so offhandishly like that. His tail twitched several times.

"Like I said mate," Weasley said as everyone began turning out their lights, "_sell him_."

Draco lifted his head to watch as Potter settled himself messily under the covers and turned out his own light, removing the frames around his eyes and resting them on the nightstand. There was an air about him Draco couldn't place.

Suddenly, the room was dark and full of heavy breathing. Draco found that he could see quite well despite it though. What was really pressuring him was how he was expected to sleep _on the floor_, in a _cat bed_ that was once made out of _a smelly old sock_. Well, there was no way he was going to do that.

He jumped back up onto Potter's bed.

He saw that the teenager was facing the opposite direction, but had definitely stiffened at the sudden feel of the indent Draco must have created when he landed. Ignoring him, Draco curled back up into his original position.

Potter rolled over onto his stomach, crossing his arms on his pillow and resting his chin. He glared at Draco, looking a little different without his signature round glasses around his bright green eyes. Draco flicked the tip of his tail as if to _dare_ Potter to try and move him again. Because he was _not_ going to lose this war; his pride wouldn't allow it.

Instead of shoving him off the bed like Draco thought he would, his expression fell. He reached a finger out for Draco to sniff. Draco watched it, thoroughly confused.

He bit it.

It wasn't as hard as he had done earlier, but it was enough to get his point across. Potter gave him a dissatisfied smile, which only confused Draco more, before pulling his hand back and rolling over again.

Draco watched the gentle rise and fall of Potter's shoulders bitterly for a long time before he himself drifted off to sleep.

_o-O-o_

Harry woke up the next morning feeling extremely well rested. The only person in the dorm up before him was Neville- who had always been an early riser- which was extremely unheard of since the end of the war. Harry usually slept his life away nowadays, even though he usually woke up feeling just as tired as when he went to bed. He rubbed his eyes, reaching over to the nightstand to grab his glasses.

His hand stopped midway from retrieving them, spotting the blonde haired cat snoozing deeply just above his pillow. He smirked, putting on his glasses so he could see properly. The cat had his face smushed into the mattress sleepily, and was purring rather loudly in soft intervals, sounding not unlike snoring. Harry couldn't resist it.

He carefully stroked one finger up the cat's forehead. Its fur was incredibly silky and soft, unlike any other cats' he's ever pet. He quickly added another finger, liking the way his purring got louder.

The cat suddenly stretched itself in his sleep, rolling his head over so that now the fluffy underside of his chin presented itself for Harry. He gladly stroked it, wondering how something can be silky and fluffy at the same time.

Then, that cat's eyes opened. There was a lazy moment when he had just watched Harry as Harry tickled under his chin; but then he realized that _Harry was tickling under his chin_.

Harry had never seen anything move as fast as this cat did right then. It jumped up, turning its back on Harry and flicking its tail grumpily. Harry smirked, knowing full well that he actually enjoyed letting Harry pet him.

Satisfied with this, Harry got out of bed and changed into clothing for the day.

_o-O-o_

Harry was a little surprised when his cat followed him down to the common room. He found it a little odd that he would hiss whenever Harry reached to touch him, yet seemed to follow him with every step he took.

He found Hermione curled up on their usual sofa by the fire, reading a book whilst simultaneously petting her own cat, Crookshanks. He took a seat next to her.

To his surprise, his cat stayed back by the coffee-table.

"Got it to recognize you as its owner, then?" Hermione asked, looking up from her book to quirk her eyebrow.

"'He'," Harry corrected. "And he caught on quickly, now that you mention it."

She smiled, rubbing Crookshanks's ears. "Does he have a name, then?"

Harry pursed his lips distastefully. "I don't... think he has a name."

"I can help you think of one if you'd like."

Harry watched how Crookshanks and his cat were staring each other down. A sudden thought occurred to him. "I think I'd feel wrong naming him."

Hermione brought her eyebrows together, "How so?"

"Well," he began awkwardly, "it's like- he's been around for quite a while, right? I mean, he's not a kitten anymore. I don't think it's in my right to give him one now."

Hermione smiled, "It's just a cat; he'll learn it fine."

"It's more than that," Harry tired to explain. "Like, if all of a sudden _you_ were shipped off for someone to look after you and they randomly decided to call you by a different name. It seems-... wrong."

"Well then what are you going to address it by?"

Harry shrugged. "Hey you'? I called him 'prat' yesterday."

She laughed heartily. "That's horrible!"

Harry smiled again, noting neither felines had moved a centimeter since Harry sat down. Crookshanks then lifted himself, apparently bored with the new cat in the common room. He waddled over to Harry for extra petting.

Harry's cat hissed violently, apparently not liking having his owner pet a different cat. This amused Harry greatly.

Suddenly, Crookshanks hopped down onto the floor, and cautiously began sniffing at the other cat. His cat hissed loudly, his ears flat on his head and his back arching threateningly. Crookshanks hissed back in return.

Suddenly, they attacked each other.

"Crookshanks, _no_!" Hermione screamed, reaching over to try and grab her cat. Harry held her back, afraid she would get scratched if she tried to break them up.

He was surprised when his cat jumped into his lap protectively, now towering over Crookshanks and spitting madly. Harry could feel the claws digging into his thigh through the jeans he was wearing.

Now on the lower level, Crookshanks backed down and retreated, storming out of the room with his tail twitching madly. His cat continued hissing and growling even as Crookshanks fled up the staircase to the girls' dormitories. Hermione looked very effected by the incident.

"I've _never_ seen Crookshanks act like that to another cat before!" She worried.

Harry smirked down at the cat still crouching in his lap with its tail swinging about madly. "It's alright, Hermione, my cat started it." On cue, his cat growled.

"Yes but... oh what if he's hurt?"

"I'm sure he's fine." Harry reached out to stroke down the blonde back in front of him. "My cat's not as tough as it likes to act." His cat jumped off of his legs to the stretch of open couch to Harry's left, making sure to dig his claws into Harry's thighs in the process.

Hermione seemed to calm down a little, though she still had a hand over her chest. "Have you given him food yet?" Harry blinked, remembering that _yeah, cats eat_. "I was thinking over it last night, you can borrow some of Crookshanks's stuff for the time being."

Harry nodded at her, "Thanks, Hermione!"

"He's probably hungry now, I'll get him something..." She got up off of the couch, leaving Harry with his cat- who was very disgruntled in the way he sat curled up on the corner of the armrest. Experimentally, he reached over and grabbed him.

Harry figured it was shock that stopped the cat from protesting right away. But sure enough as Harry placed him in his lap again he was greeted with a very offended growl. He hopped off right away, this time to the other side of Harry and began licking at the spot where Harry touched him. Then his cat realized it did not want to lick that spot and immediately stopped, looking almost disgusted it had licked itself in the first place.

He had a weird cat.

"Did you name her yet?" Parvati asked, who had just walked into the common room with Lavender right behind her. He did not miss the way his cat hissed loudly next to him.

"'He'," Harry corrected, "and no."

Lavender seemed a little down upon discovering his cat was not female. "You're sure it's male?"

His cat hissed again. "I think that proves it."

Parvati frowned, "What?"

"When you refer to him as female, he hisses."

Lavender rolled her eyes, "It's not like it can _understand_ you."

"No, really. Watch," Harry turned to his cat, who looked up at him with very disapproving eyes. He couldn't help smiling as he cooed, "Who's a good girl?" Expectantly, he was rewarded with a hiss and the flick of a tail as his cat jumped off of the couch, evidentially unamused by Harry's demeaning words. He shrugged, "See?"

Lavender sighed, seemingly taking his word for it. "What did you name him?"

"I didn't."

The girls both got very excited by this, taking a seat on either side of Harry. "How about Snowflake?" Lavender asked.

"Or something along the lines of 'lumos', because his fur is like the spell-"

Harry sighed, explaining once again why he did _not_ want to name his cat. Besides, those names definitely did not suit this cat's attitude. He still liked 'prat' the best.

After dismissing a very downhearted Lavender and Parvati, Hermione came back with a small plastic dish filled to the brim with brown colored kibbles. "Where did... _your cat_ go?" She furrowed her eyebrows, "I really think you should give it a name, Harry."

Harry ignored that last part, and began to scope the room for where his cat had gone. "I dunno." He shrugged.

Harry jumped when he felt the couch by his shoulder suddenly indent a little. He turned to his right and saw his cat perched, staring at Hermione with very unimpressed eyes. "Found him!" Harry joked.

"Here, boy!" Hermione cooed, holding out the dish under the cat's nose. Harry's cat gave her a very appalled look, turning away from her with the flick of his tail.

"Maybe he's not hungry," Harry offered.

"He hasn't eaten since before whomever put him in the basket, though." She persisted the cat, this time picking up an individual piece going to place it near the cat's nose. Harry quickly saw the outcome of this, and grabbed her wrist before his cat could get a swipe.

"That's not a good idea, Hermione," He informed her wisely, taking the piece of food from her fingers. "He'll take your arm off, that one."

She frowned, looking a little worried. "We'll just have to teach him not to."

A hiss told them that it was _very_ unlikely to happen.

_o-O-o_

_This chapter seemed strange to me. I don't like it. But I'm updating it anyway._


	4. Chapter 4

_Still don't own Harry Potter._

_Damn it. That means my plan to take over the world has yet to begin._

_o-O-o_

Like Draco would ever eat that garbage.

Not only was it utterly demeaning that they expected him to eat such substandard, common trash, it was also sickening. It smelt way too salty, and was probably dry as ash. After about ten minutes of the coaxing Draco had had enough, and hid himself underneath his cabinet to think.

For some reason he felt much more tired than should be possible. He woke up less than an hour ago from a full night's rest, yet he still felt the need to doze off again.

As he inevitably bordered the line between sleep and consciousness, Draco pondered over his actions since this morning. The first thing was waking up with Potter rubbing under his chin. He mentally cursed at himself, because getting cuddly with Potter would _not_ be a good thing to spark the Gryffindor's memory toward Draco Malfoy.

And he remembered how he reacted to the Mudblood's cat. _Fuck_ he had no idea what possessed him to despise Harry petting it that much. He immediately disliked the cat, but he figured that was because it was Granger's, and frankly it was also an ugly thing. All squash-faced and bow-legged. But once it turned to Harry looking for a good rub? It pissed him off. And he didn't know why.

_And he actually licked himself!_ Draco could not- _would_ not get over the fact that he caved into the inhuman, revolting act of licking his fur. Licking was for animals; _which Draco wasn't_. _Damn Potter and his constant need to mess up his fur!_

Draco wasn't sure how long he had dozed off for, but he awoke when a large hand suddenly grabbed his scruff and dragged him out from under his cabinet. Very harshly, might he add.

He began spitting and clawing, trying to wiggle his way out of Potter's hold. Several of the group of Gryffindors around him gasped, probably worried for Potter's safety. The bloody git, however, seemed fearless as he clasped Draco's hind legs together with one hand, skillfully dodging the claws.

Draco moaned threateningly. He spotted an area on Potter's forearm that he could swipe, and immediately acted upon it.

For a second, Draco had almost won. Potter did a little funny dance, and Draco almost squirmed his way free. At the last moment, however, the git somehow managed to bind his front paws with the arm that had been holding his scruff and successfully trap Draco against his chest. Tightly.

Draco gave a very displeased, low meow.

"_Shit_, will you calm down for two seconds?" Just to spite him, Draco began squirming around again. He soon found he should not do this, however, because Potter had somehow managed to clench him tighter than he already had been.

"You'll hurt him, Harry!" Granger worried to his left.

"He hurt me first!" Draco hissed. That fucking smell radiating off of the Gryffindor was making him dizzy again. Does the boy not _shower_ or something?

"Honestly, Harry, that's no way to train him," Granger scolded, lifting up her wand. "I can teach you the spell that sprays him with water if you'd like." Draco would have scoffed. Why should he be afraid of _water_?

"No," Harry protested, standing upright with Draco in his arms. "I'm pretty sure that will only make matters worse."

Granger pursed her lips disapprovingly, but instead told him, "Hurry up, then."

Draco had hardly the time to wonder what she meant before he was being hauled up the staircase. Potter still held him tightly, as to make sure to prevent Draco from trying to get free again. At last they made it to the dormitory, where Potter leaned down over his bed to let Draco step out onto it.

_Alright. Why am I in here, then?_

Draco twitched his tail, looking upward toward the Gryffindor to try and convey his question. Potter sighed, taking a seat on his bed next to the cat. "We're going down to Hogsmeade for the day," He explained. _There he goes again talking to a cat. _Draco thought bitterly_, Seriously, does he expect the cat to reply or something?_

Potter reached out his hand to stroke Draco's fur. Draco hissed once more, swatting at it viciously. Potter pulled away in time, though, his brow furrowing in a frown. "Oh, stop it. I know you actually enjoy it."

_Like hell he did_. Draco twitched his tail again, letting it wrap around his seated body to wave threateningly at the Gryffindor.

Potter sighed again, once more reaching out his hand. This time he only held it out for Draco to sniff. "I don't necessarily _want_ to go, though. I don't much like public events anymore."

_Oh fuck._ Draco realized what Potter was doing. Potter was going to use him for some therapeutic way to talk about his bloody feelings. _Brilliant._

The finger was still lingering in front of Draco's nose. He was trying to ignore it when Potter took the initiative to brush his hand across Draco's cheek. He managed to actually dig his claws in Potter's hand that time.

He hardly seemed to notice the deep gashes in the palm of his hand, and instead continued talking. "But Hermione said I shouldn't let you wander the common room just in case you decide to run off out of the portrait." Draco narrowed his eyes. _So he was just going to stay in the dormitory all day, was he?_

_Like hell he'd let that happen._

He bounded off of the bed, making his way toward the open door.

Potter suddenly raced after him. _Shit_ he should have started his run faster. He curved around Weasley's bed athletically, glad that his quick four legs gave him an agile advantage to Potter's clumsy thundering. He made it three feet out of the door before a heavy body landed on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

Draco winced when Potter wrapped him tightly into his chest again. Now his fur was even more rumpled than before, and goddamn him if he thought he was going to be licking it again.

Potter kicked the door shut before dropping Draco to the floor. "Thank you for proving Hermione right about how you should not be trusted." He walked passed Draco, who was still eyeing the door as though waiting for the moment it would open again. "There's a litter box and food under my bed. I trust you're smart enough to figure it out on your own."

He left quickly before Draco had the chance to pounce at his split second opportunity.

_o-O-o_

"Oh, please Harry? We haven't had a butterbeer in _ages_," Hermione pleaded, two hands clutching one of Harry's own. Bright flecks of snow had sprinkled over her bushy hair and on her cold-induced bright red cheeks. He was suddenly reminded of the over-ambitious child she used to be. "We'll get a table toward the back."

Harry rolled his eyes, unable to help the little smile on his lips. "Alright," he caved. Ron let out a whoop of delight, while Hermione kissed his cheek. He wiped the kiss away with the sleeve of his cloak in mock disgust.

Harry had not been in the Three Broomsticks since the start of the school year. And what a disaster that had been. Nearly everyone in the pub had tried to buy him a whole jug butterbeer or firewhiskey, all of them with hopeful eyes to be noticed by the Boy Who Lived.

But with Hermione's own big, brown eyes and the way those snowflakes clutched to her eyelashes, he couldn't deny her.

As promised, Hermione led the trio into the far corner of the room to a table mostly concealed by a fat Christmas tree. "I'll go get us some drinks," she smiled at him, turning around and almost skipping up to the bar.

"So mate," Ron began as they both took a seat around the round table. "Have you started your Charms essay yet? I have no idea what Flitwick is even trying to ask of it..."

It was so like Ron to ask this as soon as his girlfriend was out of earshot. Harry was reminded of Ron in his younger years, much like the nostalgia he had with Hermione just earlier. "Finished it. Would you like to copy it later?"

Ron looked relieved, his shoulders dropping. "Absolutely." Then, his eyebrows furrowed. "We were given that assignment two days ago, mate. I don't even think Hermione's done with it yet."

"Well Hermione likes to revise her work ten times before she's satisfied." Harry explained, "Besides, I had nothing to do, anyway."

Ron's expression fell completely. "You could go out with us sometimes, you know." He offered, making Harry feel completely guilty. The eighth years were given the privilege of being able to go down to Hogsmeade whenever they choose so long as it wasn't during classes. Everyone in his year took advantage of this, side from Harry.

"Sorry, it's just..." He tried to explain, but it was a difficult matter to put into words.

Ron leaned forward, looking a little flustered in his worry, "We could- we could try using Polyjuice every so often if you'd like."

Harry frowned. "I don't think I'd like that..."

Sighing, Ron fell back in his chair. "I just don't like you being cooped up in the common room so often. I wish you could go out with us some times."

"Me either," Harry admitted. The press and random people claiming to idolize him were just too much for him.

Before they could continue, Hermione was placing the jugs of steaming butterbeer on the table corresponding each of them. Her bright demeanor shattered that of the somewhat-somber one that had been starting to overcome Harry.

"I think Lavender and Dean are getting quite smitten with each other over there." She commented happily.

"Lavender and Dean? Really?" Ron scrunched up his face. "I don't see that happening."

"You just don't want Dean to go through that horror, do you." Harry smirked, watching Ron go red. Ron always flustered when talking about Lavender, especially when Hermione was around. Hermione was smirking as well, though.

After moment of teasing Ron later the curvy waitress, Madam Rosmerta, walked up to their table, a serving platter under her arm. The three turned to her, etches of their teasing still on their faces. "Hello, dears; Harry," Harry frowned as she directly addressed him, "Can I get you anything else? It's on the house for _you_, love."

Hermione elbowed Ron hardly to keep him from ordering something.

"No thanks, Madam Rosmerta," Harry said. "We're fine with just this."

She pouted, placing a manicured hand to his shoulder. He felt himself crumble a bit under its weight. "You sure, hun?"

"Y-yes." Harry licked his lip, averting his gaze.

She sounded a little put-out, "Well, I'll be up front if you need anything, dear."

Harry tried to smile back as she walked away, but it came out more like a grimace.

The table was quiet after that, neither of his friends knowing what to say to cheer him back up again. To make matters worse, a group of Slytherins walked by and sat at the table directly in view of them. Harry fell into his chair.

He had to look twice to notice what was wrong with the group. First of all, they were all rather quiet; which in itself was a bit off-putting. Second, he noticed who was in the group. Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott, Greg Goyle, Pansy Parkinson...

Where was Malfoy?

The blonde was usually right smack dab in the center of that group, leading them all in a fit of malicious laughter. Where was he?

Another idea popped in his mind though_. Pansy Parkinson._ He needed to talk to her about his cat.

"Hey, where's-?" Ron began, obviously wondering the same thing as Harry.

"I'm gunna go find out." Harry told them as he stood up. He felt a hand grab his arm.

"Oh, Harry, just leave him be," Hermione asked of him, rather exasperated. "Who knows; maybe he has detention and couldn't make it."

Harry's eyebrows knitted together, "It's Christmas break, Hermione. Teachers don't give detention over Christmas break."

"Maybe he did something really bad." Hermione suggested.

"Or maybe he didn't want to come for the same reason you never want to..." Ron was quiet, and went bright red even as he said it.

This thought now echoed in Harry's mind. It had never occurred to Harry in the slightest that Draco would have people coming up to him all the time pretending to know him. Only it was different for Draco. Draco would get hate from everyone he meets.

He frowned. So maybe Draco was in the same boat as he was.

Who would have guessed.

"Well, if anything I still need to talk to Pansy..." He sounded small, hoping his face didn't show too much emotion.

Ron scoffed, good humouredly, "You and your cat problems." He waved Harry off, "Go."

Harry stood up and made his way over to the Slytherins. Before he made it, however, someone else had cut in front of him, addressing the teenagers firmly.

"There you all are," Harry was surprised to see Professor McGonagall honing in on the group. She stopped suddenly, realizing the missing link within the group. "Where is Mr. Malfoy? His parents wanted to speak to him."

Everyone's face fell upon the mention of their leader. "We don't know," Goyle finally spoke up. Harry, still a distance away and unnoticed by everyone, furrowed his eyebrows suspiciously.

"You don't know?" McGonagall persisted, "Did he just up and disappear over the night? I've been looking for him all morning."

"We have been too," Daphne looked worn.

"He didn't come to the dormitory last night," Theodore explained.

"He wasn't at breakfast either." McGonagall finished for them, looking stern. "His parents say he was supposed to come home for Christmas break."

"He told us he wasn't going home," Daphne continued, leaning forward in her seat. "The last time we saw him was late last night. He kind of stormed out of the common room."

Lips pursed, McGonagall sighed, "So he could be anywhere."

"Pansy followed him," Blaise added.

Pansy, who looked rather bored with the conversation judging by how she was examining her nails, finally joined in. "Look, guys, I'm sure he just went off and got himself laid somewhere." McGonagall hadn't even flinched with her crude language, "He probably was so determined to prove his masculinity to us that he shagged the first female he saw." The group seemed to let out a bit of an uneasy chortle. "Speak of the devil himself," Pansy looked up from her nails to notice Harry standing awkwardly a few feet away. "What do you want, Potter?"

"Ah, Potter," McGonagall turned to him, "Out of your dormitory I see?" She sounded almost scrutinizing, as if she did not approve of how he was handling his success within the wizarding world.

He ignored her, instead turning to the Slytherins. "Malfoy's missing?"

"Oh, like you even care, Potter," Pansy spat at him, her arms crossing precariously. "Or are you just looking for another lost soul to save?"

"Keeping tabs on him like sixth year, are we?" Blaise added just as viciously.

Harry floundered for words, feeling his face heat up. "N-no, I was just..." He was shrinking under their glares, "just wondering, is all."

"I'm sure," Daphne added. She splayed her hand across the table menacingly, "You cause him enough trouble as it is. Leave him alone."

Pansy elbowed her hard, giving her a very stern look. Harry's eyebrows furrowed deeper. He and Malfoy haven't spoken since the war.

"Well, I'll be leaving then. Let me know when you find him, please," McGonagall intervened. "His father is dreadful enough as it is; I don't want him down my throat anymore." She turned to shoo Harry away, "And you; go. Rosmerta doesn't need a fight breaking out right now."

"But- I-..." He tried to squirm out of her shoving, "I need to-"

"If it's about your cat, I know nothing." Pansy spoke up, suddenly interested in her nails again.

McGonagall stopped, her face falling with confusion. Harry wished they wouldn't have this conversation in front of her. He remembered what happened to his Firebolt broomstick back in third year, which had been sent anonymously. He couldn't ride it for months because it was being tested for charms and curses. He didn't want something like that to happen to his cat.

"What cat?" Blaise was the one who asked, however.

Pansy scoffed, sounding incredibly annoyed, "I went chasing after Draco and stumbled upon a basket addressed to Scarface over here. It was hissing like mad." At the dumbfounded expression that unanimously overcame the table, she continued. "I didn't think it was fair to just leave it there on the ground so I brought it to Longbottom. End of."

"But you didn't see anything? Like who-"

"Oh, hush Potter. You don't think if I had known who sent it to you I would have spread that shit like marmalade?"

Harry pushed McGonagall's constricting arm away, still focused on Pansy. "And where did you find it?"

Pansy rolled her eyes, "It was right outside the entrance hall." Then, leaning forward she added maliciously, "I don't understand why you're so worried about it. It's a cat. You should be honored someone likes you enough to give you a cat instead of questioning their motives."

"Quite the contrary," Harry flinched, suddenly remembering he was in the presence of his headmaster. "As someone in the public eye for defeating a dark lord, I would think it'd be incredibly wise to question the motives of every anonymous gift given to them." She cleared her throat, peering down on Harry, "I will gladly assist you in any way you'd like to test if it is dangerous."

"Er..." This was exactly why Harry did not want to have this conversation with McGonagall around. Because not only would he have her insisting on making sure the feline wouldn't kill him, but he'd have to explain why he would have to explain _why_ in front of a group of Slytherins. "I don't think he's- he's not _dangerous_-"

"So, Potter," Pansy interrupted him, and for once he was glad to hear her speak. "Have you named him yet? I'd think 'Snuffles' would be a good one." Harry reddened. _Or maybe he wasn't_. "Or 'Mr. Fluffytails'." The entire group of Slytherins was heaving with laughter.

"I'm not naming my cat-"

"Oh, that'd be _precious,_" Blaise managed through hard fits of laughter, "The Boy Who Lived getting cuddly with his cat, Mr. Cuddlefins!"

"That's enough out of all of you." Although Harry should feel grateful for McGonagall's intervention, he feared she might only be making this worse. "If remember correctly, _you_ were too soft to transfigure your rabbit into a cushion back in sixth year, Zabini." Harry did feel quite grateful for that one, because Blaise had suddenly stopped laughing and darkened in color. "Now please, I would like to leave. Separate yourselves so there will be no fist throwing."

With the swish of her cloak, McGonagall left leaving Harry standing there awkwardly.

"Well?" Pansy snapped at him, "Are you leaving? Or will you be our entertainment for the night?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, shutting it the moment he realized he had no retort. He lamely settled for, "I still wanted to know a couple of things..."

"And I haven't got any answers for you." Pansy hissed, "Now please, unless you were planning on stripping for us, we'd rather not you be in our company."

"Oh, but Draco wouldn't be here to enjoy that," Blaise had snickered, hardly loud enough for Harry to hear. The entire group snickered.

"Parkinson-"

"Oh, for fucks sake!" Pansy stood up, walking over to Harry and roughly pushing him toward the direction of his table. "I have no answers for you! Go play auror somewhere else, would you?" Harry was stumbling from her shove, feeling very weird about the fact that this was the first time Pansy's touched him since... ever.

With one final hard shove, she let him go, just out of the vicinity of his table. Harry grumbled to himself. He still wanted answers. And he knew Pansy wasn't telling him something. But what?

Suddenly, there was a light brushing of warm air at his ear as Pansy leaned in to whisper, "And I hear cats' ears are a weak spot. Try it."

She left before even the shock had fully set in.

_o-O-o_

_TADA. I finished. Yay._


End file.
